Unwilling Spiders

Mother you’ve done well
With your gardens and birds,
Your beasts look well as do your skies.
But what’s with those little ones?
The ones that bounce their heads,
Supported by not much. They do nothing
But wait.
When I come to visit, they watch me
Closely then bounce away when I peep.
Am I to be hunted by your babies?
I am small and fit right to their stomachs.
I do eat what they need but can’t digest.
I breathe their air and tickle their curiosity.
I’m caught in a web aren’t I?
Then why am I still here breathing,
Laughing with you, so?
Your unwilling spiders stare as though I’m prey,
Still as the night, it calms me though.
Death is inevitable, isn’t it, mother?
You made it that way; I saw you
Twine your gold with rusted aluminum, never
A shining star if there’s no darkness to complete your light.
But Mother, may I ask, why do they step closer
Every visit? These unwilling spiders...
Sometimes I close my eyes and wait but they
Leave me be, these unwilling spiders.
I smell the steel behind your back,
It is encrusted with copper.
I can’t leave you for it though,
you made me like this and I’m essential...
To your garden, I mean.
I’ll come again, maybe next time I’ll meet
Your unwilling spiders and your knife.

This poem is about: 
Me
Our world
Guide that inspired this poem: 
Poetry Terms Demonstrated: 

Comments

sarahdougal

"unwilling spiders" is such a cool term. Really makes you think!! I like it.

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